"Oh, my God! Are you okay? Why are you bleeding?"
"It's nothing, Draco, just a scrape."
"Let me see it."
"What? Why?"
"Just let me see it, Harry."
"...Fine. There, see? It's not even deep."
"What happened?"
"...I, um, may or may not have fallenoffmybroom."
"You fell off your broom?"
"Stop laughing at me!"
"I'm sorry, I can't! I can't believe that the youngest Seeker in a century fell off his broom."
"Yeah, yeah. Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to go get this healed and then find some nice company."
"Wait, hold on."
"What?"
"Give me your arm."
"Why?"
"Just give it here."
"...How did you do that?"
"Healing spells aren't difficult, Potter."
"No, I know. I've had to do them countless times. But you did it nonverbally, and without a wand. That's incredible!"
"Obviously."
"How did you learn to do that?"
"...Let's just say that it was a necessity given the types of people staying with my family in Sixth Year."
"Sixth… oh. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. You didn't do anything. And besides, it comes in handy a lot now. Potions accidents are far more common than you'd think."
"Right." Draco offers Harry a small smile and the Auror smiles softly back, and for a moment neither of them moves. "Uh, I should - go. I mean, not that I, er, want to leave you here, but, you know, duty calls, um… and all that."
"You are about as smooth as chunky peanut butter."
"Shut up."